


Leavetakings

by Celandine



Series: Steward's Family [6]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-09
Updated: 2003-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you say goodbye? Finduilas of Dol Amroth must make some difficult decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Summer Evening

_Urimë 2986_ (1)

The gardens of the palace of the princes of Dol Amroth were warm and fragrant in the late summer twilight. Scents of roses and the pale _niphredil_ mingled in the soft air with a hint of salt from the nearby sea. Legend held that the _niphredil_ had been planted by Mithrellas herself in memory of her homeland of Lothlórien, when her son Galador became the first lord and built the palace.

Finduilas walked slowly along the graveled paths. This place was hers in a way that Minas Tirith could never be, no matter how long she might dwell there. She had grown up here, run shouting through the grass as a child, danced in the great hall as a girl, mourned the death of her mother as a young woman. For all her love for her husband, she could not love his city; its stone walls and streets oppressed her. Soon, though, she would have to leave. She had already lengthened her visit overlong, and Denethor had written twice to press her to return quickly.

A deep voice spoke behind her and she turned, startled.

"Thinking deep thoughts, my sister? You were ever one to choose the evening for your meditations," said Imrahil.

"Only regretting that I cannot divide myself, so that one part could remain here and one return to Denethor as he wishes," answered Finduilas. "I miss him greatly, and yet I dread to leave Dol Amroth."

"You dread to leave? What causes your disquiet?" questioned her brother.

Finduilas moved to a bench and seated herself, gesturing to Imrahil to sit beside her.

"You know that when I arrived I was unwell, though now my health has improved somewhat. But I have spoken with the healers here. They are reluctant to say words of ill-omen, but it is clear that they deem that I will not live long, and that a return to Minas Tirith will shorten my days further. I do not fear death for myself," she lifted her clear grey eyes to Imrahil's face, "but I fear what it may bring to my loved ones. Faramir is so young: how will he understand my passing? And although Boromir may be old enough to comprehend it, still he is likely to be unbelieving as well as grieved. As for Denethor..." she trailed into silence.

"What of Denethor?" said Imrahil gently.

"Denethor will be - enraged, embittered," Finduilas's voice shook. "He loves me deeply, I know, and this news will desolate him, but moreover he cannot bear to be impotent in any matter. Though outwardly he will accept what must be, in his heart he will need to lay blame for my loss. He throws himself into the rule of Gondor too deeply already for my peace of mind, and without my presence he will no doubt continue that course. I fear that he may - not neglect, but disregard our sons, possibly even reproach them for things that are none of their doing, in his distress. If he should turn against them... I have seen how he can act towards someone against whom he bears a grudge. Do you remember Thorongil?"

"Aye, I do. And I recall Denethor's behavior towards him as well. Though I think in part that was due to you, sister," Imrahil said.

"To me? How could that be?"

"Why, surely you knew that Denethor thought you had affection for the man. His ill-will towards Thorongil was, I think, based on that jealousy as much as on his mislike for Thorongil's standing in Ecthelion's eyes," responded Imrahil. "But I see the cause of your distress. Is there aught I can do to help you in this matter?"

Finduilas took her brother's hand. "Only to promise me to watch over my sons, when you can. Denethor loves them, but his love for them is rooted in his love for me; in my absence I truly fear what may happen."

"Of course I will," he pledged.

As they had been speaking, the last of the sun's light had vanished from the sky, and one by one the stars were appearing. Finduilas looked upward through the leaves of the birch trees under which they sat.

"I will miss the stars," she said. "So many nights have I watched as they tread their stately course across the sky."

Imrahil put his arm around her shoulders. "I have an idea, Finduilas. Choose you a star tonight, and one day when you are gone I will point it out to Boromir and Faramir as their mother's own star, so that they may think of you watching over them every night."

"A beautiful thought indeed, Imrahil." She gazed skyward, musing over which she should select.

"I have always favored Helluin, but I think perhaps instead Eärendil must be my choice. Eärendil has always been a sign of hope and a blessing against evil; let his light guide my sons through the darkness of grief." Finduilas sighed. "I suppose we should return inside now. It is past time for Faramir to be in bed, and he will want me to sing to him before he sleeps."

Imrahil rose and put out his two hands for his sister to clasp, helping her to her feet. He tucked her hand into his arm and they walked slowly back to the hall. Just before they reached the wooden doors, Finduilas tugged him to a halt.

"Before we rejoin the others, brother, I beg you not to share this news with any just yet. I will tell our father myself before I depart, and after that you may speak freely, if you choose," she said.

"As you wish. It is yours to decide," he replied, and guided her into the lighted room.

Finduilas looked immediately for her younger son, to take him to his bed for the night. He was sitting on the edge of a group of older children, including his brother Boromir, listening as his grandfather Adrahil told a story of the battle against the Corsairs in Umbar.

"Then Thorongil came against the rebel Captain of the Haven himself, and fought him hand-to-hand," Adrahil was saying as Finduilas approached.

She knelt down beside Faramir and touched his hand.

"It is time for you to go to bed, love," she whispered. "Grandfather can finish the tale for you another time."

Faramir nodded and put out his arms for his mother to carry him.

 _He must be tired_ , Finduilas thought. _Usually he hates to leave a story unfinished._

He leaned his head against her as she walked up the stairs. The warm trustfulness of his embrace touched her, and her eyes filled with tears at the thought of the little time she might have remaining. She blinked them away resolutely. _It will never do to weep before my son tonight. He would only be frightened._

The room that Faramir and Boromir shared here in Dol Amroth adjoined her own; in her childhood it had been the schoolroom where she and Imrahil and their cousins had done their lessons together. Finduilas set Faramir down beside the narrow white beds that had replaced the scarred old table, and told him to begin getting undressed as she went to find his clean nightshirt in the clothes press.

"Mama?" she heard him say from behind her.

"Yes, Faramir, what is it?" she answered.

"Are you leaving soon?"

Finduilas turned quickly at the question. "Why, what makes you say that, love?"

"I heard Grandfather telling cousin Elenna that he would miss you," said Faramir, his face troubled. "Are you leaving us behind?"

She put her arms around him.

"No, Faramir, we are all going to return to your father in Minas Tirith together, perhaps in a week or so. I would not leave without you and Boromir," she said, but to herself she thought, _It is a trick of the language, nothing more, that he seems to have somehow picked up on my concerns.... I could not tell him all, even if he were to guess truly. He is far too young, he needs his father. Even though Denethor may not take the news well himself, still it would be ill-done for my sons to know the truth before my husband!_

She tucked him firmly into bed. "Now, my son, what would you like to hear me sing? It is late, so only one song tonight."

"I want 'The Last Ship' tonight, Mama," he said.

Finduilas wondered at his choice, but began, "Fíriel looked out at three o'clock: the grey night was going; far away a golden cock clear and shrill was crowing..." (2)

As she came to the last lines, she saw that Faramir's face had relaxed and his breathing was soft and peaceful. She stood carefully, so as not to disturb him, and moved softly to the door.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Urimë is equivalent to August in the calendar of Gondor.

(2) "The Last Ship" is number sixteen of the poems collected in the volume _The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, and other verses from The Red Book_ , which can also be found in _The Tolkien Reader_. According to Tolkien's preface, this poem "must be derived ultimately from Gondor," and so I have taken the liberty of using it here, though the version published may have been altered by Bilbo from that which Finduilas and Faramir would have known.


	2. Farewell to Dol Amroth

Seven days later, Finduilas again walked in the gardens; this time she strolled not with Imrahil, but with her father. Despite having been considered a great swordsman in his younger days, Adrahil bore a love for the peaceful green enclosure almost as great as Finduilas's own, and she had asked him to walk here with her when she broke her dreadful news.

 _I can guess what his feelings will be now as I never could have done before bearing my own two sons_ , she thought. _There could be no more helpless feeling than knowing that your child will die, and you powerless to intervene._

So she hesitated, uncertain how to begin, until Adrahil spoke first.

"What is it you wish to say, daughter?" he asked kindly. "Thrice now you have opened your mouth to speak, and thrice remained silent. Did you merely want to walk with your old father before your departure tomorrow?"

Finduilas tucked her hand into her father's elbow and drew him to a bench. With a part of her mind she registered that she had chosen the same place as that where she had spoken to Imrahil.

 _May it bring me luck, then. Imrahil accepted the news well enough, I hope that Father does the same._

She took a deep breath and spoke.

"I did wish to speak, Father. For when I leave tomorrow," her voice faltered for an instant. She steadied it and went on, "it may be for the last time."

"Why, what do you mean? Denethor is jealous of your time, I know that, but surely he would not keep you from visiting your family. It cannot be that you would not desire to return to your old home," said Adrahil half-jokingly; but his daughter could see the pain in his eyes as he strove to hide his unwanted understanding of her meaning, even from himself.

"No, Father. I mean that the healers here have confirmed what I suspected for some time in Minas Tirith, that my ill-health is no passing malady. They made no predictions, but I think if I live to another summer, I will surprise them," she bowed her head.

Adrahil took her chin in his fingers and lifted it so that she had to look at him. "I understand. Your mother… she went the same way, as you know. We had hoped that her frailty would not be passed on to any of our children, but what must be, will be. I am glad, at least, that you were able to make this last visit, little dove."

The childhood nickname almost made Finduilas weep. She embraced her father fiercely and leaned her head against his chest, fighting back the tears as she remembered how she had admired and loved him since her earliest days, believing that his strength and wisdom could solve all her childish troubles. So it had been, for the most part; but this was a trouble beyond his ability to heal.

Adrahil's arms surrounded her, and he patted her back, rocking with her as if she were still that trusting child.

Face muffled against his chest, Finduilas spoke.

"I am sorry I could not tell you sooner, Father."

"It matters little," Adrahil reassured her. "Soon or late, I am glad you had the courage to speak while you were still here, rather than waiting to give the news in a letter, or not at all. At least this way we can make our farewells in the full knowledge that they may be the last, and I can tell you how proud I am of you, my belovéd daughter. You have been all that a father could ask. I was reluctant to agree when you wished to wed Denethor, heir to the Steward though he was, but he seems to have brought you happiness and given you two fine sons as well."

"I have been happy with Denethor, indeed. He has his failings, but so have I - and I love him, not for his position, but for the honor of his character," said Finduilas.

"As you should. Have you yet told him the sad tidings?" asked Adrahil.

"No, for when I left Minas Tirith I still hoped that my fears would prove unfounded. I shall speak to him as soon as I return. May it be that he takes this news as calmly as you have!" Finduilas said.

Adrahil shook his head. "For your sake, and your sons', and for his own as well, I hope so too, daughter. Do you want to tell the rest of the family here yourself, or would you wish me to do it?"

"I have already spoken to Imrahil, but I begged him to hold his tongue until I had told you myself. No one else yet knows. If you would not mind waiting until we depart, it would be well - I would prefer not to spoil the last few hours I may ever have in Dol Amroth with hearing condolences and regrets," Finduilas requested.

"If that is what you wish. It will be hard for me not to let slip something, but I will do my best to let you depart with only pleasant memories," her father said.

He stood and added, "Even in the sun, my bones begin to complain when I rise too quickly. One of the trials of age that you will be spared, my dear, though hardly adequate recompense. But come now, we had better go inside. You will not want to be late for the feast we hold tonight to mark your leavetaking, and I know how long ladies take to dress their hair finely and don their best gowns!"

Adrahil took Finduilas's hand and helped her rise. "So, daughter, unless you wish folk to guess that there is something not right, you had better put on your pretty things and turn a smiling face. Especially for your sons' sake!"

"True. They should not yet guess that aught is amiss with their mother - nor have anything to cloud their reunion with their father. If they see me reluctant to leave, they could misunderstand," Finduilas agreed.

Father and daughter returned slowly to the main hall, speaking no further but taking such joy as they could in the beauty of the garden. They parted silently in the dim coolness of the hall. Finduilas passed up the staircase to her rooms, and Adrahil stood for a moment watching her fragile form retreat. Then he sighed, and went sadly to deal with the business of the land. He could no longer help his daughter, but he could ensure that Belfalas prospered.

No one watching Finduilas that evening would have guessed her secret, unless perhaps her care to bid farewell to each person attending, guests and household members alike, betrayed something unusual. She ate with all the appetite she had ever had, and when the tables were pushed back and the dancing begun, she willingly took her place with Imrahil to lead the first of the patterned dances.

She had promised both her sons that on this last night, they could stay up until the end of the dancing if they were able. They had spent most of this last day of their visit at the seaside with other children from the household, supervised by her cousin Elenna. After a day of running about on sand and shore, Finduilas doubted that either boy would remain awake for long. Boromir was playing a dice game with a little group of other lads. As she whirled by, she could see him struggling to hold back his yawns.

Imrahil bent to her and said, "Do you remember the dances when we were children? How I envied you when you could remain until the end, and I was shepherded off to bed early!"

"I know," smiled Finduilas. "Although there was little difference between beginning and end, as you learned soon enough! But of course it was the lateness of the hour that seemed so excitingly forbidden, rather than the dancing itself. See, Boromir cares not at all for the music and movement, he was merely pleased to have longer to play with his friends. I suppose by now Faramir is curled up asleep somewhere - I should see that he is taken up to his bed."

"Nay, sister," Imrahil laughed. "He is not asleep, nor like to be. Look up towards the top of the room where Father sits."

Finduilas saw that the little boy stood on the raised dais, one hand firmly clasping his grandfather's knee, head nodding to the rhythm of the music, eyes intent on the intricate pattern that the dancers wove below him.

"You are right, he seems determined to watch the whole of the dancing. Well, we shall see whether stubbornness triumphs over exhaustion."

"In which event he will simply follow in your path tonight. Is that wise, Finduilas?" said Imrahil quietly, but seriously.

She raised her eyebrows at him, a look that had quelled him in childhood, but no longer. Seeing her brother about to repeat his question, she murmured, "It will matter little. Once we leave tomorrow, on shipboard I will sleep long and soundly with the waves rocking me and the cry of the gull for lullaby. Faramir, too. And if Boromir is less at home on the sea than usual in our family, he loves to explore the ship and pester the sailors for their stories, so he will be content. But please, Imrahil, no more speech tonight. I want only to take delight in the music and the dancing, not to think of what cannot be prevented."

Imrahil acquiesced to her request, although for the rest of the night he looked graver than his wont, and his eyes followed the light form of his sister as she skimmed about the room, her wine-colored dress standing out among the lighter shades usually favored by the women of the southern lands.

At last the evening ended. The few who had danced till the final songs drew up, flushed and laughing, to take a final draught of spiced wine before seeking their beds.

Faramir, staggering with weariness, had finally allowed Adrahil to pick him up and seat him on his lap. But his eyes were still open as Finduilas came to bid her father goodnight, and he held out his arms to her.

"No, love, I am too tired to carry you now. Father, can you help bring Faramir up to his room? I saw Boromir led off hours ago," said Finduilas.

"I imagine I have enough left in me to carry even this great lump of a lad," said Adrahil, rising stiffly and lifting his grandson in his arms. "I hope this does not mean you have overset yourself," he added for Finduilas's ears alone.

"Tomorrow - well, today - I will be tired, yes, but it is worth it. Now we had best get a few hours of sleep, though. Our ship departs on the noon tide."

Finduilas climbed the stairs, Adrahil following with Faramir. At the door to the boys' room, she took her son.

"Goodnight, Father. Rest you well," she kissed his cheek.

"And you, daughter," he said, watching with concern as she leaned against the threshold for an instant before taking Faramir inside to his bed.

The next morning, only the family accompanied Finduilas, Boromir, and Faramir to the quay to say their final goodbyes. Finduilas felt a pang of guilt as her cousins embraced her and told her how much they looked forward to seeing her next summer, or whenever she could spare the time for a visit.

 _But if I had told them, then I could not keep it from my sons. And Denethor does not yet know, either. No, this was the only way._

At last only Adrahil and Imrahil remained to take leave. Boromir had already taken his brother below to their cabin, to explore the cunning ways that the furniture fit into the room.

Adrahil said no word, but embraced his daughter for a long moment. He kissed her brow, and she knew it for a benediction and farewell as he turned and went blindly down the gangway, refusing to give in and look back.

Imrahil said, "Goodbye, Finduilas. I know that you cannot tell for certain how matters will progress, but do not shrink from sending for me if there is need. Father will be glad to spare me to you."

"I know, Imrahil. I will not forget. And at least I can hope to see you at midwinter, if you come to Minas Tirith then as usual; for all the healers shake their heads, I believe I will see next summer and more, if determination has anything to say."

"The blessings of the Valar on you, then. I love you," Imrahil pressed his cheek to hers.

"I love you too, brother," said Finduilas softly. "Farewell!"

Imrahil strode back to the dock and watched, shading his eyes with his hand as the _Seawing_ cast off and moved slowly out to sea.


	3. Homecoming

As their little procession wound its way up through the streets of Minas Tirith, Finduilas could scarcely restrain her sons from wanting to leap from the seat of the carriage and run ahead.

They had reached the city shortly after midday. Since Denethor could have had no way of knowing just when they would arrive, Finduilas did not expect to see him until that evening. She was glad to have the opportunity to see all their things unpacked and put away and to snatch an hour of rest, perhaps, first; there could be no further delaying the ill-news she must tell her husband. Gazing at the stony walls of the city closing around her, she shivered.

"Are you cold, Mama?" asked Faramir next to her.

"No, darling, not really, though it is certainly cooler here than where we have been, is it not?" she said, slipping an arm around him and hugging him to her. "Boromir, _please_ do not hang so far out," she admonished her elder son.

Reluctantly he pulled his tousled dark head back in. "Can I go down to the practice grounds when we get home, please, Mama?" he said.

"Yes, you may," said Finduilas, thinking that it would be far easier to get all of Boromir's things unpacked without his erratic help. "But take your brother with you. He ought to run around as well after this long journey."

Boromir sighed exasperatedly. "It's not just running around. And Faramir's too little to do anything," he complained. "He will just get in the way and if I have to watch him I won't be able to do anything myself."

"I won't be in the way!" was the little boy's indignant response. "I want to watch you."

"I will send someone with you, Boromir, to keep an eye on your brother and bring you both back for supper. All right?"

"All right," Boromir scowled a moment more, then brightened. "I can't wait to show all the boys what uncle Imrahil taught me."

"What was that?" his mother inquired.

"How to fall without hurting yourself, even if you don't expect it. It takes some practice, but it works really well." Boromir's face shone in anticipation.

"I am certain all your friends will be happy to see you again, new falling technique or no. We are nearly there now," said Finduilas, as they passed through the gate into the sixth level of the city.

As soon as they had reached the Steward's House, she sent a message to tell Denethor of their safe return. Her sons went off with Faramir's nursemaid to keep an eye on him, and Finduilas turned to overseeing the unpacking of all their trunks and parcels. It did not take long, even with the discovery that Boromir had secreted a collection of stones, shells, and other impedimenta of nature among his underthings. Finduilas sagged in relief when all was done, as still more than two hours remained before the family's accustomed supper time. Telling her maid to wake her in an hour, she relaxed gratefully into the great bed.

A touch on her shoulder roused her. It was not, however, Morwen; Denethor stood by her side, his usually stern face softened by the smile he gave only to his wife.

"Was the journey so tiring, my heart?" he asked.

Finduilas hesitated, then nodded. _Now is not the time to speak; I will not have long enough before the children will return to say all that must be said._ Still drowsy, she struggled to sit up. Denethor took her hand to brace her, then sat on the edge of the bed beside her, his thumb tracing a line along the joints between her fingers and palm.

"I missed you so," he said in a low voice. "Without you here, I am incomplete."

"I missed you too, my very dear," said Finduilas through the thickness in her throat. She leaned against him and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Where are the boys?" asked Denethor.

"Down at the practice yard; Boromir could hardly wait to go, and Faramir wanted to watch his brother. They will be fetched back at the supper hour," Finduilas replied.

"Good," said Denethor, and began to unfasten her dress. "Then we will not be interrupted."

At first she was as eager as he, but too quickly the discomfort that was always with her now turned to sharp pain. She concealed as best she could, urging him as if with passion to finish quickly, but Denethor recognized her cries as different.

"What is it?" he said, stopping. "Did I hurt you somehow?"

"No," she said truthfully. "You did not. But I am not feeling quite right - I will talk with you about it this evening. Do not worry for now."

He eyed her, doubt clear on his face, but when she pulled him back down for a kiss he resumed enthusiastically. Finduilas bit her lip hard and ignored the messages of her body to respond to the yearnings of her heart.

Supper was a noisy affair. Denethor was so pleased at their return that he did not even rebuke Faramir, as he normally would, for shouting with excitement at the table. The journey and the exercise they had had that afternoon had tired both boys, though; Boromir was hardly able to finish his pudding. Finduilas sent him off to wash while she took Faramir to his room and tucked him in.

"Mama?" said the little boy sleepily.

"Yes, love?" she answered, smoothing down his hair.

"I'm glad to be home with Papa, but I think I like Dol Amroth better than here," he said.

"I know, Faramir, I know." She kissed him. "Sleep well."

He snuggled down among the covers, eyes closed, his breathing already quieting into the steady rhythm of the night.

Finduilas went quietly out and down the hall to Boromir's room. He had strewn his clothes around the floor and flung himself slantwise across his bed. She picked up the scattered garments and folded them tidily across her arm to send for laundering.

"Come, Boromir, get under your blanket or you will be cold by morning."

He grumbled, already close to falling asleep, but rolled obediently to one side and then back as she lifted the covers to let him in.

"Are you happy to be back home?" she asked him.

Boromir nodded vigorously. "It's fun to visit, but I like home better. Uncle Imrahil's teaching just isn't the same as learning from Master Hallas, and there aren't as many boys to play with there. Mama, do I have to start lessons tomorrow, or can I wait?"

"Not tomorrow, no. You may have a day to rest and play after all that traveling, but the day afterward, Master Golasgil will expect you," said Finduilas.

Boromir sighed. "I wish I were as little as Faramir and didn't have to have lessons yet."

His mother poked him playfully, saying, "No, you don't, silly. You wouldn't be able to do all the things you like to do if you were still Faramir's age."

He giggled, then said, yawning, "You're right, Mama. I'd rather be my own age, I guess. Good night."

"Good night, love," and she kissed his forehead. "Rest well."

Returning to the family chamber where Denethor waited, Finduilas thought about her sons.

 _I love them so, and I will not live to see them grown. Will Boromir become the great warrior he longs to be? Will he prove a good ruler someday? And Faramir - he admires his brother so, will he resemble him in action as well as looks? How will Denethor manage alone? He loves his sons, loves the idea of his house continuing, but he does not understand children. Sometimes I wonder if he was ever really a child himself._

Denethor was reading when she stepped into the room and sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her.

"You look tired, Finduilas. Shall I read to you?"

She glanced at the volume. It was the collection of poems and tales that he had given to her during their courtship, with all her favorites, but she shook her head.

"Not now." She took a deep breath; this was the moment she had been dreading ever since the day that the healers of Dol Amroth had confirmed all her fears. "I must tell you something."

As she spoke, the blood drained from Denethor's face and he gripped the arm of the seat so hard that his knuckles whitened.

"Are you certain?" he said when she finished, his voice tightly controlled. "Have you spoken with the healers here? They may know something that can be done."

Finduilas shook her head. "It is no use, my heart. Believe me when I say that if there were aught to be done, I would already be doing it. I saw my mother's pain; think you that I would not avoid such, were it possible?"

Denethor rose and stalked around the room. "It _cannot_ be," he burst out. "There must be something to be done. You cannot leave me, Finduilas." He knelt at her feet and she could see his eyes were wet. "You cannot leave me," he repeated brokenly.

Her heart felt as if each word he spoke were a thorn pressed into her flesh. "Ah, love," she murmured, sliding to the floor to embrace him. "I wish I could say that I will not."

They sat, holding each other, not speaking, for many minutes. At last Denethor spoke again. "I will send for the best physicians in the city, of course, to see what treatments they have that will help," he said, not meeting her eyes.

Finduilas could tell that he was not going to be easily reconciled to the truth. _He will have to accept it, soon or late._

"For now, let us keep quiet about it," he continued. "If there is some mistake, you would not want to unnecessarily worry anyone, would you?"

She stroked his cheek. "Certainly the boys ought not to hear, not yet," she agreed. "But I did speak to my father and brother before I departed from Dol Amroth."

Before his look, compounded of equal parts hurt and anger, she added, "I could not bear the burden of this knowledge alone, my dearest. Had you been with me when I learned it, you would have been the first to hear. As it was, be happy for me that I had my brother there for my support, lest I should have somehow communicated all my fears and doubts and pain to our sons instead, without intending to."

Denethor's expression softened slightly, but he said, "I still would have preferred you not have spoken to anyone else before you told me. But done is done." He essayed a twisted smile. "Here I had been looking forward to your homecoming, and you tell me now that I must prepare for your leavetaking, instead."


	4. Leavetaking

_Narvinyë 2988_ (1)

The sound of the chill wind whistling past the window made Finduilas's skin rise in gooseflesh, even though the room was warm and she sitting in the place closest to the fire. Looking down at her hand, she thought detachedly that had she not known it was her own, she would have thought it the hand of an old woman - bones showing through loose skin. She lifted it to tuck the blanket more closely around her knees.

Faramir was curled up next to her; they were reading the battered picture-book of legends that had once belonged to Boromir and had now passed to his younger brother. She smiled at the dark intent head and continued with the story of Beren and Lúthien, thinking to herself, _Despite all the troubles and perils they endured, at least they were able to leave this life together. I would have hoped for that, too. I do not fear what lies beyond death - I only regret that I must leave this world so soon, and alone._

She had been pleased to confound the predictions of the healers, though. They had warned her that she might not survive the summer, but now another year's turning had come and gone. _It cannot be much longer, though. Only the poppy has let me sleep these past weeks, and now I need it in the day as well, lest each movement, be it so little as a breath, be an agony to me._

Denethor still hoped, she knew, that somehow she might become well again. He had - with great reluctance - allowed her to tell their sons of her condition, and that she was unlikely to recover.

 _But he left them with false hope,_ she thought with a bitterness so dulled by repetition that it was hardly more than an acid memory of itself. _He wishes to think it only unlikely, because he cannot bear to believe it impossible._ The boys had accepted the news more quietly even than she had hoped. Boromir remembered his grandfather Ecthelion's death well, and her explanations then of how Men's spirits left the bonds of Arda to join with Ilúvatar. She had repeated this to them, and although both had wept and clung to her, she thought that later the two must have talked together to reach their peace with the knowledge. The greatest change she saw was that Faramir scarcely left her side between morning and night, as if storing up time, whereas Boromir seemed eager to be out of her presence most of the day. They still had their nightly lesson in Sindarin, but otherwise she saw little of her elder son.

The light in the room was rosy with sunset when Denethor arrived for the evening meal. He was in a rare cheerful mood, having had good news out of Ithilien. Aldadil's command had encountered a large force of Orcs - most unusual in the winter season - but had destroyed the whole band with only minor losses of their own. Finduilas knew that this captain had been one of Denethor's protégées for some years; she was happy to hear of his success, for Denethor's sake as much as for Gondor's.

"How was your day, Boromir?" the Steward then inquired.

"I was working awfully hard today," said Boromir through a mouthful of beef. He swallowed and continued. "Master Hallas had me run ten times around the field, for conditioning, and then I practiced falls for an hour, and did some archery."

"What about your lessons with Master Golasgil? Do not neglect those - a Steward must know more than just how to fight. He must be able to command in peace as well as war, and make the country prosper."

Boromir scowled at his plate. "Lessons are all right, I guess. I like the history about our wars - I like learning about the Wainriders. But I don't see why I need all that arithmetic."

"Many reasons. For one, to know how you'll pay for all your soldiers," Denethor admonished him. Turning to his younger son, the Steward added, " And you, Faramir? Did you learn anything today?"

"Mama read to me about Beren and Lúthien. I liked when she sang to Morgoth best."

"You did, eh?" Denethor eyed Faramir. "I think soon you will be joining Boromir for lessons. Time for you to begin learning more than old tales and songs."

Finduilas spoke then. "When spring comes, Denethor. Leave it till spring, when many things will change." _I do not want to lose my second son before I must._

She could see the flash of fear and denial in his eyes, quickly muted. "You would not want to tie Faramir to you overlong, Finduilas. The boy has five years now."

"It will not be overlong, I assure you." She looked down at her hardly-touched plate. " I will not hold Faramir back from lessons past this spring."

The boys looked from one parent to the other, aware of undercurrents beyond the bare words spoken. _They know the truth, but they do not understand it fully as yet._

"If that is your wish, I will honor it," said Denethor at last. "Faramir, in three months you will begin your lessons with masters Golasgil and Hallas. I hope you will make me proud as your brother has."

Faramir nodded, although Finduilas suspected that he only half-understood his father's promise and command.

Putting her younger son to bed that night, she was not surprised when he asked, "What did you mean about changes, Mama?"

She sat down on the green-and-white quilt beside her son and gathered him into a hug. "You remember what we told you, that I will soon have to leave you and Boromir and your father, and go beyond the world. Well, that will almost certainly be before spring arrives; and then much will change, for all of us."

"I don't want you to leave," came a muffled small voice, and his tears wetted her sleeve.

"I don't want to leave all of you, either." She rocked with him. "But I must."

"You're not leaving because we were bad?"

"Of course not. I love you all, very much, and I would never leave you on purpose, whatever you did. I am ill, love, and it makes me very tired. One day soon I will sleep and to you it will seem that I do not wake; but I _will_ wake, outside Arda, wake to healing and to song, and wait in peace and joy for you and your brother and father, to join me when your times come. Do you understand that?"

His face was screwed up in concentration. "I think so - but I want you to wake up well here."

"I know, love, I know." She smoothed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead and kissed him. "But I promise, Faramir, that I will not leave you without saying goodbye."

 

* * *

A scant month later, she lay in the bed she had shared with Denethor for many years, and knew she would never again leave it.

"Bring the boys," she told her husband.

"Surely you do not want them to see you like this," he protested.

"I promised that I would bid them farewell. I am _dying_ , my heart. I must redeem that promise now, or die an oathbreaker."

Even now, he winced at her blunt use of the word. _I know, my love, you would still deny it if you could, but you cannot do so any longer._

He sent a servant to bring them, unwilling himself to leave her side. Even the duties of the Steward he ignored, the only time she could remember that he had ever done so.

Boromir and Faramir stood close together by her head, fear and the beginnings of grief in their young faces. Boromir was trying to be strong, she could see that, and she respected his efforts, saying simply, "I love you, Boromir. Grow into a good man, and always remember that your mother's love is with you."

He nodded, brushing at his eyes angrily, then bent to kiss her and ran from the room, leaving Faramir behind. The little boy climbed onto the bed to hug her. He said nothing, but the tears ran down his cheeks as she kissed him and whispered, "Farewell, Faramir my son. I love you forever." He clung to her until a nod from Denethor brought the nurse Rhîwen to carry him away.

Now they were alone again, she and Denethor. The healers had all withdrawn from the room, leaving a last draught of syrup of poppy to ease her passing when she should be ready. They had come near to a quarrel on that, as near as either dared.  Denethor had not wished to let her leave a moment sooner than he must, and it had taken much effort on Finduilas's part to convince him that waiting would simply prolong her pain unendurably, overwhelming all else. Now only one task remained to her.

"I must persuade you of one thing yet, dearest," she said through lips as dry and cold as the expression on her husband's face.

"What is that?"

"To let me go willingly, and in love."

Denethor shook his head. "How can I? Without you, all will be darkness. You are my joy, my light - there is nothing else, save duty to my land."

"There are our sons," she reminded him. "If you love me, you must not ignore them in their grief - you must show your love to them as well."

"How can I bring happiness or even ease to them, when I shall have none myself?"

Finduilas could tell that he was asking this not idly, but truly could see no way to do as she wished. She cast about desperately for some answer, and could think of none.

"I do not know," she said at last. But you must promise me to try - or my life will end in torment, to think that our sons will be abandoned to grief, when I am no longer here to bring comfort, and indeed am the cause of it. You are grown, you have lost your mother and father already, and have endured it, but they are young. If ever you have loved me, promise me this now."

Denethor met her eyes for only an instant, then looking away, he gave a single sharp nod. "For your sake, I will try; but I do not know if I can succeed."

Relief washed through her and she pressed her face to his shoulder. "That is all I ask, love."

Outside the winter sun dropped to the horizon, red light brightening the southerly windows, as Denethor reluctantly gave his wife the cup that would end her pain. Wasted as she was, he still saw the lovely girl who had caught his heart. With her passing the mesh of that soft cage did not disappear, but rather turned to bonds of iron.

She drank, then set the cup aside and nestled to him, her eyes fixed on the window and darkness approaching there. Denethor held her frail body and felt her breathing become more and more shallow. Just as the evening star appeared, she turned to give him a final kiss.

"Farewell, my heart. I will look for you beyond the borders of the world," she murmured.

Outside the door, the healers waiting heard their lord give a great cry.

"Finduilas!"  


* * *

  
 **Footnote:**

(1) Narvinyë is the equivalent of January in the calendar of Gondor.


	5. Epilogue

Imrahil had not reached Minas Tirith in time to bid his sister farewell, though he and his father had departed Dol Amroth as soon as the news came that Finduilas was clearly in her last days, but he was present for her burial. She had lain in state for a day to allow the people of the city to pay their respects, and he was touched to see how many did so.

Indeed, he, rather than Denethor, had stood vigil by her side during that public viewing. When he had arrived with Adrahil in the city and made his way up to the Citadel, he had been shocked, no, appalled to find that Denethor had withdrawn into the Tower of Ecthelion some hours before and not been seen since. _At least he had told his sons of their mother's death, first,_ thought Imrahil grimly.

The Lord Steward had finally emerged at sunset to greet his brother- and father-in-law. Standing beside Adrahil, he had looked almost as old as the Prince. He had offered hospitality absently, and told them of the plans for Finduilas's burial.

"She will lie in the House of the Stewards, next to my mother, until such time as I join her," he had informed them, looking out the window towards Rath Dínen, invisible through the wall of the seventh circle. "I will speak the words of parting myself."

Imrahil had wanted to object, but only his father had that right - and Adrahil had said nothing, only looked more wearied than his son had ever seen him. So Imrahil had held his tongue.

 _She should lie in Belfalas_ , he thought now, listening to Denethor speak of Finduilas's life, and bid her spirit find ease beyond the world's borders. _Her spirit may be gone, but she loved the hills of her childhood, overlooking the sea, as I know she never loved this city of guard. It would be better for her body to lie there, to return to the earth, rather than be imprisoned in the stone of that great tomb._

He felt a touch on his leg, and glanced down to rest his hand on Faramir's head. Boromir stood on the right, next to his grandfather; members of many of the other great houses of Gondor gathered behind, and beyond them a number of the household folk and even commoners from the city, come to pay tribute. Only the immediate family could enter through Fen Hollen and tread the cobbles of the Silent Street to accompany Finduilas to her rest; the others would remain outside, to honor the memory of the Lady of Gondor.

The gate was unlocked, and its keeper bowed respectfully as they passed. Denethor walked immediately behind those who bore his wife's body; the others came after him in pairs. When they had seen the stone lid sealed, tears fell unashamedly down Imrahil's cheeks, and Adrahil's; but the eyes of the Steward and his sons remained dry.

As soon as they returned to the Citadel, Denethor excused himself and disappeared into the Tower. Adrahil looked at his son, opening his mouth as if to speak, then shook his head and walked with slow step back to the guest room that had been allotted him.

Imrahil was left alone with his nephews. Taking their hands, he led them back past the Tower to the courtyard of the White Tree and sat on a bench there, saying nothing, simply letting them know that he was there. First Boromir, then Faramir got up and wandered about the desolate winter garden, returning now and again to sit or stand by Imrahil for a little while, then moving restlessly away once more. The sun fell below the peaks of the mountains to the west, and the first stars began to appear in the sky. Both boys were back sitting next to their uncle when he finally broke the silence.

"It is not easy, I know," he hugged each tightly with one arm. "Although I was older, I lost my mother too young, too. It is all right to grieve, Boromir, Faramir. To mourn for your mother, to miss her, honors your love."

Boromir looked up at his uncle, confused. "But Father says that a Steward should not weep."

Imrahil bit back intemperate words - _Denethor_ is _their father_ \- and said only, "You are not the Steward yet, though, are you? And your grandfather is a prince, and you saw him weep for your mother today. If your father disapproves, then you need not express your sadness thus before him, but you should be able to grieve for your mother, and remember her."

Glancing upwards brought back a memory of the evening Finduilas had first spoken to him of her impending death. He looked at her sons - _there is so little of her to be seen in them; they are so like Denethor in appearance_ \- and continued, "She wanted me to tell you something, both of you. Even though she is gone from the world, she still loves you." He lifted his hand and pointed toward the west. "You see the brightest star there, Eärendil the Messenger? Your mother chose that star to remind you of her; that every time you see it you may think of her, and how she loved you, even though she had to leave you untimely."

Faramir trembled against him, and he knew the little boy was crying. Boromir, too, leaned on his uncle, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Imrahil let them cry themselves out, then picked up Faramir and held his hand out to his older nephew.

"Come. We'll wash up and get you both some supper, and then bed."

"How long can you stay, uncle Imrahil?" asked Boromir as they reached the boys' rooms.

Imrahil sighed. "Only a few more days, I fear, but I will talk with your father and see if he will give leave for you to come stay with us in Dol Amroth someday soon. All right?"

Boromir nodded and hugged his uncle tightly. Faramir said nothing, but Imrahil could see his eyes shining at the thought of a visit south.

Denethor was uncooperative when Imrahil broached the idea to him later that evening, however.

"No. I will not send my sons away. I promised Finduilas that I would not leave them alone."

 _Can you not see that you_ have _left them? Being present in body is not enough; and locked in council chamber and Tower all day, you are hardly even that. Moreover, having them visit their mother's kin is far from leaving them alone._

He tried to say something of this to Denethor, and met with cold rebuff and a refusal to understand. Knowing that pressing his brother-in-law would only make the man more obdurate, Imrahil desisted, saying at last, "It is your decision, of course, Denethor, but do not forget that your sons have kin beyond yourself - and that they should know us. I am as yet unmarried and heirless - should some accident befall me, Boromir would be the next Prince of Dol Amroth. He should know something of that city and its lands, not Minas Tirith alone."

Denethor inclined his head. "I will bear what you say in mind."

When Imrahil and Adrahil took their leave several days later, the two boys and Faramir's nurse accompanied them to the docks on the Anduin to say farewell. _Denethor permitted this short trip,_ thought Imrahil, _as a substitute for a longer visit._

First Adrahil, then Imrahil, hugged each boy. As Imrahil straightened up, Faramir caught his hand and pointed at the gulls wheeling around the masts.

"That's how I think of Mama now, as a great white bird, soaring high and free and looking down on us, but not able to talk to us anymore."

Imrahil smiled. "That's a beautiful way to think about it, Faramir. Let the cry of the gull remind you, then, as well as the star." He stepped back and waved. The nurse Rhîwen took her charges back down to the dock.

"Farewell!"

As the ship slipped her anchor and swung to the south, he did not look back to see his nephews returning in sadness to their home - but his thoughts followed them.


End file.
